


The Saviour

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, implied BDSM with some resultant injury, rough language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns to the Wizarding world after a self-imposed exile, only to find he has to be a saviour all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2006 Bestmates_Xmas on LJ for a recipient who requested a secret relationship, hair-pulling, hurt/comfort and a hint of fluff at the end.
> 
> Because this was written well before the end of canon, there are characters who are still alive and some details that push this fic clearly into the AU/Canon divergence realm.

*~*

With a deep breath, Harry Potter Apparated to the place where it all started some fifteen years ago.

The Leaky Cauldron.

As he entered the run down, ancient pub he noted only a few wizards occupied the stools along the bar. They were drinking and chatting quietly amongst themselves; one elderly wizard was holding an animated conversation with Tom, the owner. No one, save Tom, acknowledged his appearance.

He came around the corner, extending his hand. “Bless my soul. Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” he said softly.

“Hello, Tom,” Harry replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“It has been quite some time.”

“Care for a quick one?”

“Maybe later. I have an appointment with someone in Diagon Alley in just a few minutes, but I’d like to catch up with you,” Harry said ruefully, knowing it probably would never happen.

Tom gave him a tired smile. “Come back any time.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

Harry walked through the wall separating the Cauldron from the main commercial district of England’s Wizarding world. It had been too long, far too long. As much as he loved _what_ he was, _who_ he was became problematical, especially in the weeks and months following the demise of Voldemort. He winced as the thought of that day came back to him, the memories blinding him just as the light from the destructive spell had, the one that rent Tom Riddle’s mortal body from stem to stern and released his soul into the next world.

Diagon Alley retained the quaint appearance that greeted Harry on his eleventh birthday. Seeing it after all the years made his stomach do flip-flops. A huge part of him felt like he had returned home after a very long, arduous journey. But still, a miniscule portion hung back, stung by all that had happened, all the deaths, the violence. The loss.

As he walked along the main street, he recalled the awe with which he had viewed the shoppes as a small boy, and smiled as he found himself looking at the newest model of the Firebolt hanging in the window of Quidditch Quality Supplies. He lingered over the display of books and magnificent Fwooper quills at Florish & Blotts. He marveled once again why on earth the skeewhompered white columns of Gringotts Bank didn’t come tumbling down at the slightest of breezes. He was so intrinsic to this place, and yet, so set apart.

Most of Diagon Alley’s shoppes looked worn and dull, in sore need of a paint job. But up the street, now at number 90, was the brilliantly lit and colourful storefront of Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes (Harry shook his head at the name; _How the hell did they come up with that one?_ ). Since it was a cold, overcast day during the school year, the pace was quiet, and only a few witches were wandering about doing their shopping; even fewer were milling about the joke shoppe.

Harry opened the door and was greeted with a raucous laugh, which startled him. He looked over at the counter, but no one was there. The laughing continued, and Harry realized it was a sort of alarm/doorbell. _Nice one, good security,_ he thought. The twins had done extremely well over the years. They had expanded into three other stores in Great Britain, four on the continent and two in America. But everything still took place in Diagon Alley, though now in a much larger space than the original one at number 92. Harry was grateful he had not tried to Apparate directly into the store.

“Harry!”

He turned to find a smiling George Weasley. The tall, redheaded fellow walked over and greeted Harry with a warm, bone-crushing handshake and then a long, tight hug. “Great to see you,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come but I’m awfully glad you have.”

Harry looked around. “Where’s Fred?”

“Oh, he’s up at The Burrow with Angelina. They had their second child last week.”

“Really? When’d they have the first one?”

“Couple of years back,” George said genially. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

Harry said nothing, waiting for George to continue, but the older man didn’t say anything about Harry’s self-imposed exile. “So I guess business is doing well,” he said finally.

“It’s been very good, very good to us.” He gestured. “Come on up. We’ll sit and have a cuppa, eh?”

As Harry followed George up a back staircase, Harry asked about the health and well being of the other members of the Weasley family, which George filled in with the least-number-of-words version of five years’ worth of information. At the top of the stairs, the room opened up into a large space cluttered with tables, cauldrons, potions equipment, a huge bank of glass jars and pottery crocks full of Merlin-knows-what, all of which were the foundation of the twins’ success.

“Impressive,” Harry said, scanning the room.

“This is it, Harry,” George said, leading them to a corner of the room which looked like an ordinary kitchen. He waved his wand and a kettle whistled loudly. “Of course, we try to keep our drinking tea separate from the experimental ones.”

“Um…somehow, I’m terribly grateful to hear that.”

George chuckled as he stirred two mugs and came to sit at the table with Harry. Each took a sip of the hot tea, and looked at and away from each other. Finally, Harry put the mug down and folded his hands.

“So, your letter the other day,” he began. “What’s going on?”

George stared at his mug, his finger rubbing the smooth surface. He raised his eyes to Harry’s and gave a small sigh. “You know, there’s a lot that’s gone on since you left. And”—he raised his hand slightly to ward off any response from Harry—“I didn’t owl you to give you any shit for leaving. You had your reasons, and for a while, those worked for us, and for you, I reckon.” George stood and walked to the counter where he leaned against it, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, and we’ve left you be.”

“I know. And thank you for that,” Harry said.

“I didn’t want to alarm you. I hate getting those kinds of owls m’self, but frankly, we’re all at wits’ end here, and no one’s been able to say or do anything, which is why I asked you to come.”

George came and sat back at the table. “I know he’s gonna hate me for doing this, but I’m….I’m really starting to get worried. It’s about Ron, Harry.”

Harry said nothing as George rose again and started pacing. “Ron just…Ron has…Merlin, where to start?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I think Ron’s in trouble.”

“How so? And isn’t the person you should be saying this to Hermione?”

“Hermione?”

“Yeah, Hermione. Ron’s wife. She’s the one who you--”

George stopped. “Harry, Ron and Hermione aren’t married. They broke up years ago.”

Harry stared. Time around him came to a stop. “Years?” he said weakly.

“Yeah, years. Haven’t seen her in an age. She’s still at St. Mungo’s, I think. Head Healer by now, I’d not be surprised.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno. Career, studying, long hours, the constant bickering, who knows. They were together, then they weren’t. Not long after you left, they broke it off. Ron went into something of a tailspin and we thought about owling you, but he forbad it absolutely. Said you were in something of a state yourself, and that under no circumstances were we to contact you. So, we didn’t.

“Well, he seemed to pull out of it,” George continued as he sat at the table again. “Even re-entered Auror training. Seemed like he was—I don’t know, not happy exactly—all right for a while, or so he told us. Then about six months ago, things changed. He changed. Again. He dropped out of training, stopped coming by the shoppe. Even stopped going to Sunday dinners at home. And that was what really got our attention. He went all shirty with Dad when he confronted Ron about it. It was a right nasty argument. Ron Disapparated, and I don’t think Dad’s seen him since.”

George took a long pull of his tea. “He got a job at this place in Knockturn Alley. Some sort of supply shoppe. I saw him there this one time when I was really desperate for some rare caterpillars from Madagascar. They’re kinda illegal to sell here in Great Britain,” he lowered his voice, “but we have a supplier in Africa that sends them to us, and we need them in one of our products. It’s on the up and up there, just not here.

“Anyway, the shoppe where Ron works, though I didn’t know he worked there at the time, gets them in, too, and I was shocked to see Ron there that day. He barely spoke to me! I tried to say something to him, but he looked like…well, he just didn’t even acknowledge me. And he looked awful. I mean, like he wasn’t taking care of himself. His hair was long, his robe was really frayed around the cuffs.”

George clasped his hands in front of him. “And he looked like, well, like he hadn’t had a good meal in a while. He was kinda pasty and really thin. Harry, he…he also looked like he’d been roughed up a bit.”

Harry looked up, alarmed. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I tried! I tried to get him out of that place, just to talk to him, but he wouldn’t budge. Then, some big bloke came over and told me to get the hell out.” George wrung his hands back and forth. “It’s all very weird, Harry. I mean, Ron’s been a bit, well, mental, especially when Hermione broke up with him and after you disappeared into Muggle-land. It was hard on him, not to have the two people he was closest to for all those years not be around anymore.”

Harry swallowed hard. It was difficult telling Ron he was leaving the Wizarding world for a while; the after effects of the war had twisted him around. But he thought he was leaving Ron in the capable hands and love of Hermione Granger, the one person in the world he would trust Ron’s heart and life with.

Beside himself, of course.

So when Harry decided the constant attention, the printed rubbish in press, and the weariness of being ‘The Saviour’ crushed his soul, he felt perhaps it was time to give the Muggle world another go. He had money; the Dursleys were out of the way; he could do anything he wanted and no one was the wiser. A guy with a strange scar on his forehead was just…another guy. And when Ron didn’t put up a fight, Harry thought it was fine. Ron understood. He told him so.

Even though Harry didn’t tell Ron the real truth why he was leaving. He didn’t think Ron would’ve understood that.

That he, Harry, was in love with him, Ron.

“So I’m asking you, Harry,” George continued. “I’m asking you for my entire family if you could please see if you can get through to him. Go see him. Just talk to him.”

“I don’t see how…”

“Look, even Mum couldn’t get through to him. And you know how stubborn she is. All he told her was that he was fine and that everyone should just leave him alone. Which is crap, because while Ron may do and say many stupid things, he would never tell his family to leave him alone. Not after what happened to Ginny.”

Harry started, and then became angry. How could Ron abandon his mother? He knew how important it was for her to have him and his surviving brothers around her.

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry said quietly. “I’ll probably get tossed out on my arse, but I’ll try. Now, tell me everything you can that’s happened since Ron changed.”

*~*

Harry flattened his hair, now a sandy brown, down over the silvery scar that still marred his forehead. Though he lived amongst Muggles, he could still perform magic in an agreement with the Ministry assured him of that right; as long as he didn’t do any offensive magic, the Ministry would ignore his magical signature. He’d become quite adept at concealing charms and Transfiguration.

So a tall, sandy-haired chap with glasses and a nasty scar on one cheek walked into _Rombauer’s Emporium_ deep in the heart of Knockturn Alley. His robes were a deep blue, though a bit shabby around the edges. The store was nearly deserted, it being late in the day on a cold December afternoon. One customer was checking out, and then that would be it.

Ron finished handing the customer his change, wordlessly. Harry carefully made his way over to the counter and looked up into Ron’s eyes.

Ron looked steadily at him for only a few heartbeats, and then his eyes widened. Harry acknowledged him with the barest of nods and a small smile. Ron glanced furtively around, even rising up to see over the shelving to make sure no one was about. He indicated to Harry to meet him in the back, around the counter.

Harry was instantly flooded with dread and excitement—excited to see his best mate for the first time in many years, yet not knowing how it would go. He thought Ron had understood why he needed to leave the Wizarding world; Ron had been mildly supportive and made all the appropriately supportive gestures, but Harry couldn’t help but think that underneath it, Ron really didn’t understand or support him.

Ron was pacing in the crammed work area. “Why are you here, Harry?”

Harry sighed mentally. _So this is going to be how it is._ “Hello, Ron. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Fine. Why are you here? Which one of my family sent you?”

“Can’t I just come see you on my own?”

“No. There’s no way you would’ve known I was here. In fact, why don’t you leave? You seem to be awfully good at that.”

Harry sighed again. “Well, it seems I’m back.”

“So what’s with the disguise? Still think you’re too famous to walk down Knockturn Alley?”

“Actually, I think I’m more of a target than a celebrity in this part of town. I’d like to keep my life, thanks.”

Ron snorted. “One of the things you learn about this part of town is that no one gives a shit anymore. Not about the war, not about Death Eaters, and certainly not about ‘famous Harry Potter’.”

Harry contemplated the tone with which Ron delivered the rebuke, but said, “Well, that’s a relief.”

When Ron didn’t say anything more, Harry continued, “Look, I’ve only just decided to return to the Wizarding world. Things, as you have pointed out, have calmed considerably, and I’ve started coming here more often. You’re the first person I’ve looked up.”

“No I’m not. You had to have talked to someone else.”

“Ah, well. I suppose you’re right. I checked in at the twins’ shoppe earlier. George told me you were here.”

“Told some more stuff about me, I reckon. Told you I’ve been a bit mental?”

Harry kept his face neutral. “Maybe. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?”

“Why should I? You didn’t give a shit about me five years ago, why should you now?”

“That’s crap, and you know it,” Harry responded, instantly angry. “You had Hermione and your family around you. I left because—“

“Yeah, because you were tired of being ‘The Saviour’. A bit of recognition and your picture in the papers every day was enough to drive you away, more than wanting to be with your friends.”

“Ron, I tried to explain why I wanted to go away for a while, just to let things die back—“

“Five years! You left for five fucking years! What have you been waiting for? A silver engraved owl?”

Harry controlled his anger, and replied evenly, “No. For your information, I’ve received regular updates from the Ministry about the capture and prosecution of former Death Eaters. It’s only now that it’s safe for me to show up in Diagon Alley again.”

Ron stopped his pacing, and turned to face Harry. At last. “You’ve been getting owls from the Ministry?”

“Actually, they’ve been sending quarterly reports via Muggle mail to keep suspicions to a minimum. Did you know that for a while I was under _Fidelius_?”

The look on Ron’s face told Harry he had not heard that bit of information. “And that Charlie was the Secret-Keeper?”

“No,” Ron breathed, clearly surprised, “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s obviously worked since no one has punched my ticket thus far.”

Ron sagged. As he did, Harry was able to get a good look at his best mate for the first time. Time and whatever else had taken quite a toll on him. He was exactly as George described him: too thin by far, unshaven, unkempt, and haggard. Once cheek bore the signs of a recent bruising. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and red lines marked the creamy skin.

Harry took a small chance. “Ron, can I ask you what’s been going on? Excuse me for saying, but you look like hell.”

That elicited a snort. “Yeah, come back after five years, and then pass judgement on me.”

“Ron, I’m not passing judgement, I’m stating a fact. When’s the last time you ate a good meal?”

“This afternoon, thanks, Dad,” Ron shot back. “Since when are you concerned about me?”

“Since I see that you look like you’ve been in a fight and haven’t seen a decent Healer. Merlin, Ron, you still have a bruise on your cheek, and you look like you could fall over any minute.”

“I’m fine, so back the hell off.”

Harry held up his hands, but took a step closer. “Look, I’m just saying—“

“I don’t need you saying anything. I don’t want anything from you. You can tell Fred or George or whoever to piss off because I don’t need anything from them either. Everyone can just go to hell.”

As Ron said this, Harry slowly shook his wand from his sleeve into his right hand, which was at his side. “Okay, Ron. I’m not going to give you anything or say anything more. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to sod off. Leave me alone,” Ron shouted. “I want everyone to just leave me the fuck alone.” Suddenly, he bent over, clutching his side. When he pulled his hand back, it was covered in blood.

“Ron, what the hell?” Harry said, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ron shouted again. “Just go!”

And then Ron pulled himself up to his height and closed his eyes. As he did, Harry raised his wand and quickly cast _Legilimens!_

A split second before Ron Apparated away, Harry caught a glimpse of a tree, a large tree along the side of a house. But then the image disappeared as Ron did.

Harry quickly focused on the image left in his memory, and Apparated to the spot.

He opened his eyes and found himself standing beside a large elm tree. Beside it was a small, squat cottage. Harry quickly ran over to the side and ducked beneath a window. He strained to hear anything, any movement, any talking from inside the house. He thought he heard a shout go up, but it came from the house a little ways to the left. He looked at it, and saw a shadow cross in front of a backlit, curtained window.

Harry made his way over towards the other house, thinking perhaps Ron had been picturing his neighbor’s house instead. He listened carefully for several minutes, and then was rewarded by the sound of Ron’s voice coming from inside.

“I’m fine. Nothing happened, I swear it.”

“You’re a fucking liar, you are, Weasley. Someone said something, didn’t they?”

“No, no they didn’t.”

“Then why are you in such a state?”

“I’m not in a state. I’m hurting, I tell you. I just wanted to get home quickly….”

And with that the voices trailed off. Harry cursed softly and then crawled around to the back of the house. Several large rubbish bins stood beside a small landing near a door. A window beside the door with a cracked pane allowed Harry to hear a muffled argument.

“It’s nothing.”

“Merlin, Weasley, must I do everything for you? You’re pathetic….”

The voices disappeared again. Harry was desperately trying to figure out who belonged to the other voice. It was male, but with an odd lilt to it. It was someone from Hogwarts, their year; he was sure of it. He very much wanted to peek in the window, so he Disillusioned himself, shuddering as the charm traveled down his body. He carefully rose up and looked in the window.

The room was the kitchen, and a messy one at that. The stove on the opposite wall had two pots on it, one of which had something cooking in it. Suddenly, Ron came into the kitchen, followed by a tall black man with exotic features.

Harry stared hard at the man, thinking frantically who he was, and why Ron would be with him. He wasn’t in Gryffindor during their years, yet that voice…

“Look, Blaise, if you don’t want to do this, then just tell me,” Ron said, as he stood at the stove.

 _Blaise? Zabini?_ Harry thought. Sure enough, it was the Slytherin, the one who hung around Malfoy and his ilk. Zabini never did anything directly to Ron or him, but he shared Malfoy’s views of pure-bloods. _What the hell is Ron doing with Zabini?_

Then, Zabini came into the kitchen, pulled Ron away from the stove, wrapped his arms about Ron’s body and kissed him. And not some gentle romantic kiss—it was a full-on snog, complete with tongues and arse-grabbing and moaning.

Harry staggered. Ron, not just with Zabini, but really _with_ Zabini, as in a relationship. As in a relationship with a man. As in … _No wonder he and Hermione broke up._ Harry’s mind was whirling, trying to absorb the reality that his best mate, formerly straight best mate, was more like him than not, and that the possibilities and implications were not just astonishing, but far reaching and life altering and just when the hell did Ron Weasley decide to be gay, as if he had a choice, but …Ron couldn’t be gay. But then, maybe he could. If he was, why couldn’t Ron?

Just as Harry’s mind was wrapping around this new version of the universe, Zabini reached up and pulled Ron’s hair so hard, it snapped Ron’s head back. Harry started to fling a hex at him, but then Zabini sucked hard on Ron’s neck and Ron moaned. He enjoyed it. When Zabini worked his way to the other side of Ron’s neck, Harry saw the look of growing ecstasy on Ron’s face, and damn, it was more arousing than anything Harry had ever seen before in his life. It was a look Harry had never seen on the freckled features of his best mate and it definitely suited him. Harry wanted to see more until—

“Ow, stop!”

Ron struggled to get away from Zabini. Ron’s hand reached up to cover his neck. “Damn, Blaise. You didn’t have to bite so hard.”

Harry grew concerned as pain crossed Ron’s face. But he wasn’t prepared for what came next.

Zabini grabbed Ron by the arms and literally threw him against the wall. He then covered Ron’s body with his own and his hips ground up against Ron’s. Pain left Ron’s face, and as arousal filled his eyes, Zabini brought his knee up to Ron’s crotch and from the look of it, he pressed hard.

Harry could see Zabini was saying something to Ron because several emotions crossed Ron’s pale face. Harry strained to hear, but he was whispering; he impatiently cast an amplification charm.

“….because no one can make you come like I can,” Zabini was saying. “He couldn’t, that’s for sure. Potter left you behind, didn’t he? He left you and then I came in and picked up the pieces, didn’t I?” Ron closed his eyes, but did not acknowledge one way or the other the veracity of the words.

“Ow! Fuck, man that hurts!” Ron hissed.

“Still dream about him, don’t you? Want what you can’t have? Even if he was here, he wouldn’t want you. You’re pathetic. Besides….” Zabini ground against Ron harder this time, making Ron grimace, “he’ll never be the man I am.”

At that, Ron shoved Zabini away from him. “You’ll never be half the man he is,” Ron gritted out. “Stop talking about Harry.”

Harry’s heart nearly stopped beating during the entire exchange between the two. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And Ron was defending him! He was nearly in shock.

And then Zabini grabbed Ron by the arm and threw him across the room. Ron slammed into the dining table. It noisily scooted several feet, scattering the chairs, and stopped against the wall. Ron lay across the table momentarily.

Harry shook himself mentally out of his torpor at the violence before him. The hell? Zabini was actually _beating Ron up?_ He and Ron were about the same height, but the Slytherin appeared to be more filled out, more muscular. Harry was about the head towards the door, when Zabini pulled Ron up off the table and held him in his arms. Harry watched as Zabini whispered in Ron’s ear, and Ron nodded, his face slack and without emotion. Then, the two of them left the kitchen.

Harry raced to the other window. It was shuttered but he tried to see in through the small spaces in the slats. It was a bedroom, perhaps. A light came on, then turned off. Harry ran around the other side of the house and found another window, but curtains completely obscured the room. Suddenly, all sound was cut off, as if someone had cast the Muffling Charm.

Harry ran around to the front door, but found it locked. He tried _Alohomora_ , but the door stayed locked. He tried another unlocking charm, but it too failed. He ran around the house trying every charm he could think of to get through a window, but everything failed. He even tried to Apparate into the kitchen, but was immediately rebuffed. Frustrated, Harry decided he would try the simplest and most direct way of gaining admittance.

He walked up to the front door, and knocked.

Several times, he pounded on the door, hoping against hope that one of the occupants would at least come and tell him to “Fuck off,” but nothing happened. Finally, Harry concluded that the two had decided to do … whatever, and that there was nothing he could do but wait.

Harry went to the back of the house again and peered in through the kitchen window, the only window that seemed to be uncovered. He tried working on the crack in the glass of the window, but it too was held in place by the strong wards protecting the entire house.

At long last, Zabini came back into the kitchen, carrying what looked like a long piece of leather. He crossed to the sink and held it under the water. The water ran red in the sink.

Something snapped inside Harry when he saw the blood. Without another thought, he screamed, “ _Reducto!_ and the door bulged as it took the force of the spell. Harry cast the curse several times in a row, and finally the door gave way.

Harry rushed in. Zabini was in a defensive posture in the doorway of the kitchen, but Harry was much too quick. He yelled, “ _Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Incarcerous!_ in quick succession, and Zabini never had chance. Harry quickly ended the Disillusionment charm, checked that the man was truly immobilized, and went in search of Ron.

What he found in the small room made him sick. Ron was spread eagle on the bed with deep, bleeding welts criss-crossing his back. The blood ran in rivulets down the sides of his ribcage and was being absorbed into the sheets.

“Fuck! Ron!” Harry cried. “Ron!” He shook him gently.

Ron didn’t move. Several new bruises formed on Ron’s handsome features, as well as along his ribs. Harry cast _Episkey!_ which was one of the only real medical spells he knew, but it did nothing to staunch the flow of blood; he tried several other spells, but nothing seemed to work.

Finally, Harry carefully lifted Ron up with the help of _Mobilicorpus_ and moved him beyond the doorway of the house. Once on the small porch, Harry Side-Along Apparated them to St. Mungo’s.

*~*

For three days, Ron lay in a magical coma. Harry kept vigil over Ron during the entire time, except during small periods when he helped the Aurors carry Zabini away to the holding cell at the Ministry to await arraignment and interrogate him. Veritaserum finally forced the man to reveal the spell he had used on Ron, but the Healers could only lessen the effect of it on Ron’s overtaxed body. Harry exacted some revenge on Ron’s behalf by delivering several well-placed right upper cuts to Zabini’s exotic face; the Aurors didn’t seem too excited about getting their prisoner medical attention.

During the time Ron lay still as death, Harry worried and raged. He ignored the stream of visitors to the hospital, once word of his presence got around, save for the Weasley family, Hermione, and a few close associates from the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione, the Head of Magical Bugs ward, took personal care of Ron, tending his wounds and administering potions that would lessen the damage of the magic on him.

Finally, the magic ran its course. The bleeding stopped, and Ron awakened. In the proceeding days, Harry backed off to allow Ron’s worried family members to fuss over him and give him the support and care he needed. Hermione let Harry use her home to get much needed sleep, and to have a place to nearby.

Nearly a week later, Harry entered the ward to find Ron sitting up in bed. Molly Weasley sat contently by, knitting and speaking to him in a soft voice.

“Good morning, Mrs. Weasley, Ron,” Harry said. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not, Harry, dear,” Molly replied, kissing his cheek. “I know you and Ron have much to catch up on. I’ll leave you to it.”

Ron looked as though he were about to protest, but instead gave Harry a weak smile. “I hear I have you to thank for rescuing me.”

Harry shook his head, not knowing how to respond. “It was all I could do. Did it so you wouldn’t bleed to death.”

“Yeah, um… Hermione explained what Blaise did. God, such…well, that’s over, anyway.”

Harry had a million questions to ask, starting with “What the hell were you doing with that Slytherin?” when Ron asked him one: “So, you finally learned Legilimacy.”

Harry was startled, prepared to talk to Ron about his ordeal, but he supposed being truly honest with Ron would probably start the conversation. “Yeah, I did. Had some time on my hands, and I found a decent teacher.”

“Who was that?”

“Severus Snape.”

Ron’s face was priceless. “Excuse me?”

Harry shrugged. “War changes people. And wizards living in Muggle England have a way of finding each other. Snape isn’t such a bastard now that he’s out from under Voldemort’s control. But he’ll always be a greasy git.”

That brought a smile to Ron’s face. “Can’t change everything, can he?”

“Yeah, neither can we.”

Ron looked at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “Harry, about those things I said—“

“Forget it. It’s not a problem.”

“But it is a problem,” Ron replied. “I said some really awful things.”

“I’ve already forgotten them.”

They lapsed into silence again. Finally, Harry asked, “Why did you let it go on, Ron? Why’d you let him to that to you? The Healers said you’d been beaten up pretty badly over a long time.”

Ron sighed and his head fell back into the pillows. “I don’t know. Blaise was the first … guy to want a relationship, even if it was a bad one. After me and Hermione broke up, I couldn’t … I just couldn’t do something long-term. I realized what I was, that I preferred men. It took me a long time to accept that, to accept me.”

Harry nodded. Then he answered slowly, “It took me a long time to do the same thing.”

It took Ron a moment to absorb the meaning of Harry’s statement. Then, his eyes widened. “You mean … you?

Again Harry nodded. “When I left five years ago, it wasn’t only about the pressure of being the ‘saviour’ of the Wizarding world, it was also about facing the pressure of who I was in actuality. I couldn’t face it… I couldn’t face you because … you were with Hermione and I was happy for you, but … I just couldn’t ….”

“Because you were in love with me,” Ron finished for him.

Harry shrugged and nodded. “Oh god, Harry,” Ron said. “And I think I knew it because I felt it too, and I couldn’t admit it to myself and I felt so guilty and Hermione was there and all those years we could have been together and I was so stupid and…”

Ron began to tear up, becoming frantic and incoherent. Harry slid into the bed beside him and gathered him in his arms. “It’s fine. It’s okay. I know. I was stupid, too,” Harry murmured to him over and over.

Once he calmed down, Ron swallowed hard, and said softly, “I guess, maybe, I couldn’t leave Blaise because… I don’t know… like he was the only one who would love me or … something like that. Pretty fucked up, that is.”

“Yeah, it is fucked up. But I reckon that makes us both pretty fucked up.”

“Pretty clueless, too.”

“Most definitely.”

They sat companionably, side by side, on a narrow bed in a St. Mungo’s ward, for many hours, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. Each was warmed by the simple presence of the other.

“You know,” Ron said, after a while, “this makes you a saviour all over again.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “No, really,” Ron continued. “You saved me. Thank you.”

But this time, Harry considered his words. “You saved my arse more times than I can count while we were at Hogwarts and during the war. I reckon you were due. And … saving you is the best kind.” He turned to face Ron. “That makes us each other’s saviour.” Harry broke into a wide smile. “I can live with that.”

And then Ron leant over and kissed him.

*~*


End file.
